


Delayed Gratification

by swtalmnd



Series: Worth the Wait [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bingo, Community: inceptiversary, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur takes his dream-built desire back to his hotel room for a solo finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delayed Gratification

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 3rd of 7 short fics in a series for 2016 kink bingo; I'm determined to get two intersecting Bingo lines. And write a lot of porn.
> 
> Thank you to mycitruspocket & kate_the_reader for encouragement and beta help!

Arthur woke with a gasp, thrown out of his dream and back into the cold, hard reality that no one was going to help with the problem in his pants but himself. He spent a few minutes calming himself enough to put the PASIV away, though he stayed hard the whole time.

He forced himself to go slowly, to check that their work area was secure and there wasn't anything too incriminating where people could get at it, to pack up his laptop, roll down his cuffs, fix his tie.

Arthur loved the delay as much as he hated it.

He buttoned up his suit jacket and slung his laptop bag in a way that hid his predicament from casual glances, then finally let himself head out, lock up, and walk to his hotel.

It was crisp outside, cool but not cold, enough to dampen his ardour a little but not to kill it entirely. His mind was full of the images from his dream, and Arthur wanted to let that heat simmer as long as he could.

He considered getting dinner, but he knew if he did that he'd lose too much momentum. He'd given himself tonight for this because he wouldn't have another one for a while, and it had been ages since he indulged in more than rubbing one out in the shower, furtive and ultimately unsatisfying.

No, Arthur was going to enjoy this.

And then he was going to order room service.

Arthur was cheerful enough to have a spring in his step as he emerged from the elevator, striding purposefully toward his room with nothing on his mind but the things he intended to do to himself for as long as possible, until he finally let the coiled tension explode.

He was very put out to see that someone had broken into his room while he was gone.

* * *

"Jesus, Arthur, don't shoot me!" said Eames, hands up and posture unthreatening, slouched in the lone chair in Arthur's utilitarian hotel room with his legs crossed at the ankles.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" Arthur growled. He holstered his gun, which flashed Eames the evidence that he'd been looking for.

Eames grinned, slow and sensual. "I thought I might help you work out your frustrations, darling."

"I don't feel like dreaming bigger today, Eames," said Arthur sarcastically, not even bothering to deny it. He set his laptop bag in the middle of the desk, which required moving through Eames' personal space, much to Eames' personal appreciation.

"Oh, but you're already much bigger than I'd dreamed," said Eames. He kept his hands to himself, however, well aware that it was possible to do his job with all sorts of unpleasant injuries, and equally aware of Arthur's ability to inflict said injuries. "Come on, Arthur, why don't you ever rise to my bait?"

"Have you ever considered that you're not my type, Mr. Eames?" said Arthur dryly, moving over to the room's small closet area and out of Eames' view.

Eames got up and followed him, leaning against the doorway, using his bulk to fill the space without looming. "To be honest, I have no idea what your type is," he said. "But hope springs eternal."

Arthur sighed. He'd shed his jacket and shoes, and turned to glare at Eames. "Why? You don't even like me."

"Oh, Arthur," Eames purred, "I like you just fine when you're not being an arsehole."

Arthur laughed. "You think I have no imagination," he said. He also evidently decided not to care about Eames' presence overmuch, as he decisively resumed his undressing, waistcoat buttons slipping open with deft flicks of his fingers.

Eames had to shift his hips, a bit concerned he was going to show his own hand too soon. Arthur undressing was calling out to a number of hitherto unknown fantasies on Eames' part. "I think you like safe, well-proven plans, and don't know how to function without reams of research and at least three failsafes."

"You," said Arthur, hanging up the waistcoat, "are neither safe nor well-proven." He pulled off his braces, letting them hang at his sides while he started on the buttons of his shirt.

Eames swallowed. "Arthur," he said, his voice low and just a touch breathless, "how can I convince you this will be amazing?"

Arthur chuckled. "I have no doubt it would be explosive," he said, turning to Eames with a sigh, "but I don't fuck on the job."

Arthur stripped off his shirt, leaving him in a form-fitting heather grey undershirt. Eames got an amazing view of Arthur's arse when he bent down to take off his socks, putting them into into a plastic laundry bag with his dress shirt.

Eames shook himself, letting Arthur's words penetrate the lust fogging up his brain. "What, not at all? Christ, Arthur, some of these jobs take months!"

"And sometimes I don't fuck for months," said Arthur. "So what? I'm not an animal, I can take care of myself. I was going to take care of myself. I had plans to take care of myself, which you are ruining."

The straining of his cock against his trousers, still hard as ever, belied his words.

"I could be helping," said Eames. "You've still not said you don't want me, you know."

Arthur closed his eyes, leaned against the little sink, took a breath. "I'm not made of stone, Eames," he said, sounding frustrated. "But fucking you would be a terrible idea on basically every level, personally and professionally."

"Oi!" Eames protested. "I'm not so bad as all that, it's not as if I've left a string of jilted point men behind me, brokenhearted and unable to dream."

Arthur snorted. "Go to bed, Mr. Eames."

Eames moved in closer, taking a risk. "You've led me on a merry chase, Arthur. Let me give you the kick you need."

Arthur snorted. "That was terrible," he said. But he didn't move away.

Eames chuckled, low and sexy. "You haven't said no."

Arthur took a deep breath and looked at him, really looked. Eames swallowed, nervous and half-hard and wanting much more than he'd expected, given that he'd only realised an hour ago how lovely Arthur could be when he was undone. Arthur sighed and shook his head. "No, Eames. Not... not now. If you're still interested when the job's done, you can look me up."

Eames stepped back immediately, out of Arthur's space and into the tiny entryway. "I'll take you up on that," he said, slipping out the door and hearing it shut on Arthur's sigh.

* * *

"Fuck," Arthur swore, putting a lot of feeling into that one word. At least Eames hadn't destroyed the careful tension he'd built, instead ratcheting it up several notches tighter with that damned voice and his ridiculous mouth. Arthur let his head gently hit the mirror, then he forced himself to lean back and look at his reflection. "No fucking Eames on the fucking job."

Mirror Arthur looked annoyingly dubious about this proclamation.

Arthur turned away and finished stripping, shedding shirt, trousers, and underpants far more efficiently than he'd done with Eames watching. He scrapped his original idea of a bath and took himself to bed instead, dimming most of the lights and finding the lube. Arthur let his mind range back to the dream, to the pleasure he'd let himself have there that he wouldn't be getting anywhere else for awhile. He lay back on the bed and sent his hands wandering over his skin, as random as he could be while it was just himself.

Then, Arthur let go of the earlier fantasy to imagine the touches belonged to Eames. The real Eames, just one of him, no club or music or dreaming but Eames here in his loose-springed hotel bed, pressing Arthur down onto the scratchy hotel sheets.

Arthur's breath picked up at the thought of it. Eames' hands would be larger than Arthur's but, he thought, more careful than Arthur's usual impatient caresses. Eames looked like he'd treat Arthur with a certain reverence, given the opportunity, and that made Arthur wonder what he'd looked like while he was dreaming. Wanton enough that Eames had felt like breaking into his room to offer him sex. Needy enough he'd almost said yes.

Arthur sighed and spread his legs and imagined one scruffy cheek rubbing the inside of his thighs. He was already so wound up he could barely stand it, but he was also used to this delay, to making himself wait and wait and wait for what he wanted. It was why he'd sent Eames away with a 'no' that was more of a 'not now.' It was why he curled his fingers along the insides of his thighs and left his cock alone for now, trailing sticky precome over his belly with every twitch and gasp.

Arthur brought back the memory of Eames leaning into him, smelling of cologne and warm man, of the solidity of his body and its inviting strength. He scratched his nails up his inner thighs, gently, thinking of Eames' two-day stubble and his soft lips. He cupped and rolled his balls and wondered what all Eames was willing to use that mouth for. Arthur took every bit of pleasure he could give himself and, just for tonight, let himself wonder how it would feel if Eames was the one giving it.

Eventually Arthur couldn't make himself wait anymore, and he left off pinching his nipples and teasing the crease of his hips and found the lube. He slicked up both hands and worked a finger into himself, still so very tight after months without, and wrapped the other hand loosely around his cock. He thought of Eames' blunt fingers and wicked mouth, and worked in a second of his own slender digits, teased his length with the circle of thumb and forefinger tighter than the rest.

Arthur moaned Eames' name and almost, almost regretted sending him away.

It didn't take long after that, after all the winding up he'd done, for the tension to finally peak and send him over the edge. Arthur shouted as he came, two fingers in his ass and cock spurting over his fist, over his belly. He slipped his fingers out with a sigh and relaxed into the bed, wallowing in the afterglow, feeling the tension drained from his body, toes still tingling a little with the force of his orgasm.

Arthur might not fuck on the job, but he knew how to get the most out of his time alone.


End file.
